


Three Little Words

by Smapdi



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smapdi/pseuds/Smapdi
Summary: Why is it so hard to say 'I love you?' Probably because these two are idiots.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This barely has a plot, but after the angst-fest that Yumytaffy and I inflicted on the fandom, it was time for something lighter. Many thanks to the folks who listen to my angst and let me bounce ideas and such off of them time and time again, and give me feedback and warm fuzzies and beta their asses off - Likerealpeopledo and Yumytaffy. Without you, I'm nothing.

“So, your big day’s almost here - got any plans?”

Rebecca looks up from her underwhelming tuna salad, paying more attention to the smell of Paula’s french fries than to her words. “Huh? My birthday isn't for two months.”

“Not your birthday,” Paula scoffs. “Your anniversary!” She says it reverently, almost in a whisper.

Oh. Anniversary. As in, the celebration of a date, which means she and Greg have hit some kind of milestone together. It's almost hard for Rebecca to comprehend the concept. 

“Right, right, of course. Um, yeah, that's happening. On the, uh…”

“Tomorrow.”

“Yes, tomorrow. That's my anniversary, all right.”

Paula shakes her head. “Cookie, how do you not even know your own anniversary?” 

“A better question is how do _you_ know it? And do I even want to know the answer to that?”

“Psh, don't be silly. What would you do without me to keep track of these kinds of things?” Paula grins smugly as she dips a fry in ranch dressing and pops it in her mouth. 

It's a good question, especially because Rebecca herself isn't sure what the upcoming event is the anniversary of, exactly. The timeline of her relationship with Greg is complex and tempestuous; it’s been a considerable effort to get to a point where Rebecca feels confident in its existence. To say she and Greg are lousy at relationships is an understatement, and yet here they are, on the verge of an actual accomplishment. 

Rebecca reaches for a fry and gets a glare from Paula. 

“So, this special date I've neglected, can you be a little more specific on just what transpired so I can celebrate it properly?”

Paula rolls her eyes. 

“What?” Rebecca pauses to reflect. “It can't be our first date, that was years ago, and so much...stuff happened since, that wouldn't be right.”

“Of course not. Look, I get why you'd be a little muddled, what with your on-again, off-again bullshit, but really, there are only a couple valid options for an anniversary. This happens to be a year since you guys mended fences and got back on the bang wagon after that Josh debacle…”

“That Josh debacle that you insisted that I pursue, Paula!”

“We all make mistakes, cookie. Anyway, you've got your first dates for the romantic, uncomplicated sort; you've got your first hookup, which may be the same for you kids nowadays; and you've got the first time you say I love you.” Paula sighs wistfully. “That's the sweetest one of all, I think.”

Rebecca snorts. “Well, that one's gonna be a while off, considering it hasn't happened yet.”

Paula snaps out of her trance and slams her palms on the table, startling half the diner.

“WHAT!?!” she roars. 

“Paula! Don't do that! You made me pee a little.”

“Are you serious? You've never told Greg you love him?”

Rebecca shrugs and looks down at her plate, shaking her head.

“But he's said it to you, hasn't he?” Paula waits, her eyes burning into Rebecca for a disturbingly long time. _“Hasn't he?”_

When the only response is another mute shake of the head, Paula is incensed.

“What is _wrong_ with the two of you!?” she hisses, glaring at Rebecca, who can't seem to look her in the eye. 

“It's not a big deal, Paula.” Rebecca doesn't sound convincing even to herself. It's not like she hasn't thought about it - the truth is, she has to force herself to not think about it, because otherwise, things have been going really well. “How often do you and Scott say ‘I love you’?”

“Never. But we've been married forever! We used to say it all the time, especially at the beginning. Mostly in bed... Cookie, are you sure? Greg’s never even said it when you're…”

“Stop!” Rebecca waves her hands in her friend's face, her eyes pleading. “You're making this into a big deal, and it's not. It's fine! We’re in a really good place. It's fine.”

“A year, cookie,” Paula sighs. “That's a long time. What's holding you back? You love him, don't you?” 

“I love lots of people. I love you, I love Darryl...”

“That's different, and you know it. Are you _in love_ with Greg?”

“I have romantic feelings about him that under the circumstances could be interpreted as being…”

“Dammit, don't talk lawyer to me! It's a yes or no question.”

Rebecca hides her face in her hands. “Paula, if I can't say it to him, what makes you think I can say it to you?” She's pretty sure she loves him. Given that her concept of romantic love has been a bit distanced from reality in the past, it's been hard for her to know exactly how to categorize her feelings. This thing she has with Greg is different from any of her past relationships, and it’s been an eye-opener. So yeah, as far as she knows, it's love. 

“You love him. So why can't you say it to him?”

“The better question is why can't he say it to me.” Okay, maybe not a better question, but she’d rather explore Greg’s psyche than her own. Besides, she knows why. She’s terrified that he won't return the sentiment, and then what? Does she just wait around until he decides one way or the other? She's not sure she can handle finding out the answer.

“Why CAN'T he, Cookie? What's going on?”

“It's Greg. You know what we've been through.”

“Okay, it's a given he would be a little gun shy at first, but you haven't left him to sleep with someone else in a really long time!”

Rebecca’s makes insulted noises while Paula continues. 

“Have you guys even talked about his past relationships? Has he ever been in love before?” Paula lowers her voice. “Do you think he has the capacity to feel love, given his lack of maternal affection? That's a thing, you know. It's how people become sociopaths. Could he be a sociopath?”

These were all good questions; well, maybe not the last few. But as much as Rebecca hates to admit it, it does seem strange that after a year, he hasn't even muttered it in the throes of passion, considering he was given to vocalizing some… interesting things. 

“What about Greg being a sociopath is making you smile?” Paula shouts, snapping Rebecca out of her musing. 

“What. No, nothing. He's not a sociopath, Paula. He cried when a bird flew into his windshield.” 

“That proves nothing.” 

“Well, I'm really not worried.” 

She was worried. 

Rebecca knew she should have said it first, back when she first realized her feelings were deeper than just attraction. But it was too new, and she could feel Greg was holding back, with good reason. And then, even as things progressed and he seemed to trust her, she hesitated. She wanted him to say it first because that was safe. Maybe he was just waiting for the same reason. 

“Well, I still think you need to start figuring things out. Talk to him.”

\---

Rebecca takes a deep breath and steels herself. Greg is in the kitchen, having brought over pizza and beer, the standard Friday night routine if he's not working. They rarely go to his house, because it makes Rebecca feel like she's still in high school, being chaperoned by her boyfriend’s dad, and she's an adult. An adult who does adulty things, like talking to her boyfriend about their mutual investment in the relationship. 

Greg is talking to her from the kitchen, and she hasn't paid a word of attention, but he doesn't seem to notice. All she can focus on is classic motivational speaker quotes - be the change you want to see in the world! If you can dream it, you can live it! 

And it's all good until Greg walks out with two plates of pizza and a bottle of some trendy IPA under each arm, and her bravado crumbles. 

“And I'm like, there's 88 keys on a piano, right?” 

“Right!” Rebecca nods enthusiastically and takes her plate, catching the dripping cheese and curling it back up on her slices. It's everything pizza, minus the onions, and she knows Greg loves onions, but she doesn't, so that has to mean something, doesn't it? 

Whatever fascinating topic that Greg had been riffing about seems to be forgotten as he takes a huge bite and hands her a beer, now open and offering liquid courage. She sips and smiles. 

“Mmm, yummy.” 

“It's good, isn't it?” Greg turns the bottle around to show the label. “These guys make a pilsner that I love, so I'll try anything new they come out with. The perk of wasting my life at a bar, I guess.”

Rebecca nods. This is a real relationship, where one partner can be as boring as dirt sometimes and you don't just want to run away and find a handsome matador with a really big sword. “So anyway, I was talking to Paula…”

“Oh, boy,” Greg says through a mouthful of dough. He swallows and looks at her warily. 

“What?”

“Oh, it's just that nothing good ever follows that setup. ’I was talking to Paula, and she says we should take a couples class’ ‘Paula suggested we do couples improv.’ ‘Paula wants to bring Scott to couples improv.’ Why is she so into improv? That's just weird. Also, she's not funny.”

“Are you done?”

“Not quite,” Greg grins and she can tell he's just getting started. “Why do all her suggestions involve things I don't want to do? Does she ever tell you, ‘hey, you're not having enough sex, you should have more sex’?”

“As a matter fact, she does, but I told her we’re not swingers, and she need to quit asking. And hello, you have NOTHING to complain about.”

Greg leers at her. “Wanna fool around?”

“No!”

“I can complain about that.” He takes a swig of beer and winks at her. 

“You're an idiot.”

Greg grins, and for a moment, Rebecca is sure his next words will resolve all her worries. He’ll say something cute and funny and romantic, like “that's why you love me,” or “but I'm _your_ idiot,” and she’ll melt in a pool of feels, and it will all be fine. 

“Eh, been called worse,” he replies with a shrug, followed by another bite of pizza.

That was _not_ it. Not by a long shot. 

Forget it. She's not going to broach the subject when he's like this. She's said, “Greg, this is serious” about far less serious things - ok, to be fair, most of those things weren't serious at all. It's just that sometimes it's like he's just so used to being sarcastic that actual sincere conversations are too much work for him. She couldn't bear it if he was flippant about her feelings, or worse, wouldn't speak honestly about his, because that would mean she had the answer she didn't want. 

“So, what wisdom did the all-knowing Paula grant you today?”

Rebecca puts her plate on the coffee table and pulls out her phone. “She just told me the revival theater in Pasadena is showing _The Princess Bride_ tomorrow, and I thought you might like to go.”

Greg nods. “Oh yeah, I love that movie.”

Of course. But does the movie love him back? 

“But I work till 7:00 - when's it playing?” 

“That's what I'm checking… it's at 8:00. We should be able to make it if I pick you up at work. I guess we can eat after?”

“I'll just eat at work, you can grab something there or eat before.”

“I guess… it would just be nice to have dinner together since it's kind of our anniversary and all…” 

Greg turns to her in surprise. “Whaaat… Really? It's been that long? What event is it the anniversary of, exactly?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes in exasperation even though she had to ask that very same question. He doesn't know that. “It's been a year that we’ve been... doing this.”

“Doing _this?_ I thought you said we weren't doing this tonight.”

“Not that, this. Us, together.” She gestures between them. “Whatever this is. And I didn't say we weren't doing _that,_ we just aren't doing that now, while I'm eating pizza.”

“Don't knock it till you try it,” he murmurs. “So, wow, it's been a year? A year, and you can't describe what _this_ is.”

Hmmm. Maybe they were having that conversation after all. 

“Well, it's not like you can describe it, can you?” _Can he?_

“Uh uh, not my job. That's the woman’s job.” Greg frowns and shakes his head. 

“Shut your sexist pie hole!” Rebecca shoves him, and he laughs.

“Kidding! Look, it's not that hard. We’re good, right? So what's to discuss?”

Good question. Now Rebecca begins to second guess herself. Is this even really an issue? Does she really need to mess with a good thing over a couple of silly words?

Not right now she doesn't. It has nothing to do with being a coward. 

“Yeah, of course. We’re good. So, tomorrow, I'll pick you up, and we’ll go to the movies and whatever.”

Greg stands up, taking their plates and beer bottles. “As you wish,” he winks, walking off into the kitchen. 

_As you wish._ Her heart skips a beat. Does that count? Rebecca fires off a text to Paula to check. Paula tells her emphatically that it does not. 

\---

Ok, she's admitted that what may work for Princess Buttercup may not work for her, but still. It was something. 

Greg sleeps in, and Rebecca is awake hours before him, filling her time futzing with the bathroom cabinets and rearranging the linen closet. She briefly considers being an adult and going grocery shopping so she can cook meals more than occasionally but decides for now, as usual, coffee and toast is enough. 

Rebecca returns to the bedroom, now fairly well lit thanks to the morning sun peeking through the gaps in the curtains, and Greg is still quite asleep. He's got an arm up over his head, which is tilted in such a way that he's actually managed to drool into his armpit and yep, she's definitely in love with him. There's no other way to explain how her heart swells at the sight. 

Maybe she can do it while he sleeps, just for practice. All she has to do is crawl in next to him and whisper it into his ear, and she's just resting her weight on the bed when his eyes open. 

“G’mornin,” Greg purrs, his voice croaky with sleep. Rebecca freezes, caught in the act, almost, like he knows what she planned, but he couldn't know or else she wouldn't be doing this in the first place. “You comin’ to give me some anniversary booty?” 

“You need to go to work.”

“C’mon, I'll be quick...” 

“Not a selling point.” She grins at him, all tousled curls and sleepy eyes - even with the drooly armpit, it's tempting. But sex doesn’t solve anything, as she's too often proved, and she needs to be strong. One year is long enough, and before the night is through, she needs to decide where this is going. 

\---

Greg made an effort. Rebecca wrote it down in her little book of mental notes, the ones she started keeping of things he did to offset the fact that he hadn't yet told her he loves her. They're just words, after all, and doesn't this mean more anyway?

He arranged an early exit from work and found a quiet little restaurant just around the corner from the theater so they could eat and drink and be all romantic before the movie. He even paid, so, bonus points. 

It's just that watching a super romantic movie in a tiny old timey theater just magnifies how damn much she wants the words. 

She leans her head against his shoulder, and he tangles his fingers in hers and squeezes, and sure, she loves him and she should just be the one to say it. Right now. Right in the middle of this magical movie so she can ruin it forever.

No, it can wait. 

The wine Rebecca drank at dinner makes her sleepy, and she tries to stay awake on the drive home by running all the scenarios where Greg tells her he loves through her head. It doesn't work; instead, she goes into some half-dozing state that apparently is concerning to Greg because he keeps reaching over and squeezing her knee. He finally gives up trying to talk to her and just sings along to some ‘70s rock, which actually works at keeping her awake. 

Once they're home, she feels awkward because it's perilously close to tomorrow, and she hasn't succeeded in moving any closer to resolving this, and it's feeling like just one more thing she's failed at. 

Rebecca turns and catches Greg trying to surreptitiously sniff himself. He smiles at her, a little red in the face. “I just… if we’re celebrating some more tonight, I think I need to freshen up.”

Rebecca stares at him blankly for a moment. She's realized he's asked her for sex three times in the last 24 hours, and if that isn't a huge red flag that something's wrong, she's not sure what would get through to him. He never has to ask - either he makes a move or she does, and sometimes it doesn't happen, but normally that's all it takes and they're attacking each other. 

“Take the shower and then we’ll talk,” she replies. Maybe it's too late - is the spark is gone? Or is he just recognizing that's she's in a weird space and giving her room to breathe? Maybe that's what people do when they love each other. This is all so new to Rebecca. 

“Probably a good idea.” He grins at Rebecca, and her heart flutters. She hasn't lost it, that's for sure. 

He looks like he's going to say something sweet, and she holds her breath. 

“Did you get any more of that lemony body wash? I love that stuff.”

That's the last straw. 

“Of course you do,” she growls, and Greg takes a step back. 

“What?”

“You _love_ that body wash. You _love_ pizza, you _love_ the new Google doodle, you _love_ that damned Folgers commercial with the incest twins. You can tell me that you love every inanimate object under the sun, and you never stop to think how that makes me feel? We’ve been together a year, Greg, and you've _never_ said it to me. I can only assume that's because… you don't.” Rebecca’s voice cracks on the last words and it makes her feel even more weak and pathetic than she's sure she sounds. 

Greg stares at her, his mouth slightly open, a combination of shock and sheer terror on his face. 

He steps forward. “Rebecca, you _are_ my sun…”

“Oh, shut up!” She rolls her eyes hard and crosses her arms. 

“Too cheesy?” He says hesitantly. 

“I don't want you to bullshit me. If you don't feel it, just tell me, because I don't want to keep wasting our time.”

“Ok, fine. How's this. You're an idiot, Rebecca.” He moves closer still, just out of reach, for safety reasons, no doubt. 

“In what way is that possibly better, Greg?”

“How can you think I don't love you? I buy you tampons. I rub your feet after a long day at work. I tell you your lasagne is delicious even though it pretty much tastes like cardboard.”

Rebecca gasps. “You said you loved my lasagne!!”

“I do.” Greg finally steps close enough to touch her. “I love your cardboard lasagne, and I'm completely, wildly, stupid in love with you.” He wraps his arms around her, and she's frozen, stomach in knots, head spinning. “Is that too cheesy?”

She can't think of a suitable reply, because her head is exploding.

“Rebecca, you want to say something?”

She does. Just not what she actually says. “You do smell pretty bad.”

He blinks twice, registering her response, and steps back. “Wow.”

“No, I didn't mean it!” She yelps, grabbing at his arm, taking his hands in hers. “I'm sorry, you know I'm no good under pressure. I love you.”

The words just slip out, and she feels a wave of relief rush over her. “I love you,” she repeats. 

Greg smiles shyly. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” She nods vigorously and realizes that hearing the words wasn't the key, nor was it saying them. It was sharing them that brought this feeling on, this assurance that things were truly, for the first time maybe, going to be alright. 

“Okay, then. Look at us, being all mature and communicating our feelings!”

“It's good, Greg. It's really good.”

“So how about I jump in the shower and then we express our feelings in the usual way, by doing terrible, terrible things to each other.” Greg winks at her.

“Or I could join you in that shower, and we get a head start.”

“You're on.” He turns, leading the way. “And hey, now that we've got that straight, we can think about moving in together.”

Rebecca stops in her tracks. Oh shit. 

“I'm kidding,” he laughs, turning and pulling her to him. “Do you think I'm crazy?”


End file.
